


Gymnopédie Arc

by Drones_of_Innocence



Series: The Messenger [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Heaven, Hell, M/M, Sweet Devil, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-12 07:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drones_of_Innocence/pseuds/Drones_of_Innocence
Summary: Alfred's Origins; how he came to be a demon.





	1. Alfred's Innocence

O~o~O

Oblique et coupant l'ombre un torrent éclatant  
Ruisselait en flots d'or sur la dalle polie  
Où les atomes d'ambre au feu se miroitant  
Mêlaient leur sarabande à la gymnopédie

-J. P. Contamine de Latour

Slanting and shadow-cutting a bursting stream  
Trickled in gusts of gold on the shiny flagstone  
Where the amber atoms in the fire gleaming  
Mingled their sarabande with the gymnopaedia

O~o~O

'Change...Everything you are...And everything you were...Your last chance has arrived...'

It had been the last time.

The last time the little boy would ever feel the sweet breeze kiss his cheeks, or the sun warm his face. The last time he would hear the tinkling resonance of the harps or the soothing ambience of the hymns. The light that had guided him for his short life would never brighten his eyes again. What could have been was no more, and what was would never be again. He would never again know what it was to be listless and languid, and he would forget what it was to have mercy.

That was what time did away from Heaven, after all. Time was the cruellest punishment anyone could offer.

And yet, it sounded like the most merciful thing.

He had made his last mistake. The poor little angel would have no idea what was coming for him.

There wasn't really anything anyone could do, once they found out. The little angel had just been playing with others, when without warning the clouds around him all darkened. In that moment, his face twisted with meaningless fury and eyes blood-red, he possessed too much anger. More than any one angel was allowed to have.

As far as the archangels were concerned, such Rage could not be allowed to exist in Heaven. It was simply too dangerous; the boy posed too much of a threat, not only to himself but to all the angels around him. Had his Rage been allowed to go on, he would have been consumed in his own anger and killed by his own hatred, as God had proclaimed all those centuries ago. And he would have hurt and possibly killed all of those innocent angels around him.

It wasn't a big surprise that Rage was regarded with fear, so the gentle and kind boy was avoided and shunned. Alienated. It was such a horrible shame; the boy was nothing but sweet, except for the giant factor that he had an affliction for which there was no cure. No one would trust him or let themselves relax around the child anymore. That was why none of the other highly ranked angels felt too horribly about his punishment.

Though there were some that were convinced the boy was innocent and did not deserve to be punished; Rage was beyond anyone's control, and no one dared to see if there was any other way. Those angels were generally dismissed.

But it just stung to see such a happy, cheerful, bright boy have to suffer and not understand why.

His last steps in Heaven were taken following the two who were responsible for the sentence. It seemed he was the only one who didn't understand what was about to happen; he skipped about, gleefully playing along as if the sombre atmosphere of those ahead and those who watched didn't quite ring correctly in his mind. His ignorant bliss only made it harder.

"He has...Beautiful eyes." hummed one of the angels leading him along, quietly in case the boy heard. "I do not recall seeing such a clear hue."

Nervously, the other archangel glanced over his shoulder too peek at the little boy, who merely grinned and giggled in response. "Indeed...I did not think such a shade of blue was possible." he responded softly.

They left it at that, listening to the boy's sweet laughter as he played and frolicked along behind them. He was quite a gorgeous young angel; his white wings had feathers tipped with the colour of his hair, as if each one had been meticulously dipped in caramel. Like all angels, he was a work of art. Such beauty, however, could not stay...

As sad as it was, the archangels were bound by duty. They bravely strode on, leading the boy to his fate.

Some angels watched, the only other ones who didn't quite understand what was happening smiling and laughing themselves. They were the other children, leaving a painful burden to those who did know and could not explain.

The two archangels came upon an edge, long after everyone had decided to leave them be, and each took a heavy breath. "At least he was named before..." trailing off, one looked wistfully down at the boy, who was kneeling to play with a stray sky creature.

Nodding in agreement, the other followed his friend's gaze. "He might not remember it. W-when he..." neither really wanted to say it. It was unthinkable, abominable. The one thing that could chill an angel so deeply. That was why they were trying to reach out for the happier thoughts before there were none left.

Earlier, the boy had finally been named, for the sake of him to be able to call himself something before he...Left. The two remembered vividly, the decision as it was made. A voice, clear and brave, had called out, "Alfred!" Unusual for an angel's name, yet somehow fitting. The speaker had been an angel not much younger than the ones leading the boy to the edge of Heaven. Neither could remember his name, but the startling green eyes would stick in their minds for a long time.

Unfortunately, when all was said and done, the little angel might not actually remember his new name.

"Where are we going?"

Attentive, the little boy had stood and was watching the two archangels with his big, bright blue eyes. They twinkled, reflecting all the castles and cathedrals in the distance. It pained the two.

One sighed, and forced himself to smile. "Why, you are going on an adventure! It will be lots of fun, you will find many new people to play with!" he told the little angel sweetly, leaning down to get closer to his height.

"Indeed! You will get on well, I know you will. You are a very strong boy." the other came and patted the angel's head, almost certain his words were hollow and meaningless.

Eyes wide as halos, the angel gasped. "Really?! Are you coming?" he asked excitedly.

Both of the archangel's smiles faltered. "I am afraid not." one admitted, still plastering on a smile. "But it will be okay! You do not need either of us."

The little boy looked slightly disappointed, as his big smile faded just slightly. "Oh...Why am I going? Will anyone come with me?"

"You are going to..." the archangel hesitated, not sure how to word his explanation. He paused for a moment and looked at his friend, who urged him on with a wince. "You are going to learn how to control your Rage."

As they expected, the boy's grin fell even more, and he swallowed thickly. "...Oh." he let out, making both archangels cringe. "I...I know I made a mistake...B-but I can learn! I will control it!"

'There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface...Consuming...confusing...This lack of self control I fear is never ending...Controlling...I can't seem...'

Both the archangels believed it. There was genuine motivation and will behind that determined gaze, he truly wanted desperately to rectify his wrongs. But there was also a frantic and panicked fear that he wouldn't be able to, despite how hard the angel tried to mask it. The archangels could see that just as clearly. The poor boy was hurt, and he didn't understand what he did wrong or why no one wanted to be around him anymore. But still, he smiled. That itself made both angels frustrated, but they forced themselves to be patient. How could he be so happy in his position? What was so hard to understand?

"I-I will prove it to you! What can I do?" Alfred asked them, as if either of them knew the answer to curing Rage.

Fortunately, his childish reasoning gave them the perfect platform to introduce his punishment. The hardest part, however, was lying.

The one closer to the boy steeled himself with a huff, glancing at the reassuring look from the other. Looking back at the angel, he forced a grin. "If you truly want to redeem yourself..."

He nodded vigorously. "I do, I do!"

The archangel held up a hand uneasily, hoping to calm the little one down. "If you wish to redeem yourself, you must do exactly as I say." he tried not to let his sadness show through, hoping he looked and sounded stern. You must leave Heaven for a while to find peace. You must embrace that peace, until you know for sure you will never feel anger again. That is when the Rage will pass, and when you can return."

The little boy gulped, fear and alarm evident in his eyes. "H-how long?" his small voice cracked.

Before the first archangel could think to say anything, the other spoke up. "Not long, my child. Not long at all, you will not even feel like you have gone from home." he smiled warmly.

Surprisingly, the boy perked up. "Really?! Okay!" he fluttered eagerly to the edge, seeming to forget how far he already was from home. He looked back at the two archangels, seeking reassurance.

How painful was it, to see a boy so young and so naive on the edge of everything he ever knew, and ever would know? How could one live knowing they were responsible for the end of such an early life?

"Go now, my dear child. Seek peace below the Kingdom, and return to us once the Rage has been quelled in you." the other archangel continued when he could sense the first one was too choked up to say anything. There was relief that the little angel wouldn't need to be forced out, but there was something more heart wrenching about watching him fall of his own accord. Alfred truly believed he was coming back.

Grinning from ear to ear, the angel gave a small salute, before he faced the abyss. He looked into it bravely, took one last breath of Heaven's air, and then he jumped.

He heard a voice wail distantly, as the air rapidly blasted past him. If the speed wasn't alarming, the sheer emptiness and darkness was. Alfred couldn't see or feel anything. Except for that sole shout. It sounded like someone had screamed an apology.

He was just a little boy...

O~o~O

'I will never know myself until I do this on my own, and I will never feel anything else, until my wounds are healed, I will never be anything till I break away from me, I will break away, I'll find myself today...'

The sensation of falling was becoming difficult to handle. After a while, Alfred started to scream, feeling helpless because he couldn't control the speed at which he was falling. His wings were useless when he tried to flap them, beating futilely at the wind.

But, after tumbling through the darkness for even longer, Alfred finally realised there wasn't any point in screaming. That in and of itself was a phenomenon; at what point does an angel facing his greatest fear stop being afraid?

So he let himself fall, numb but calm as time collapsed all around him. There was nothing left for him to hold onto, and faith was slipping from his small grasp. Now that there was time to think and time to dwell, Alfred realised he had doubts.

Those doubts weren't important, right? He was to be rid of his Rage, and then he could return. It didn't have to be reasonable; Alfred just had to trust that the archangels knew what they were talking about.

So he did.

He closed his eyes and listened to the rushing wind, feeling it pass through him as he tore through the sky. Did he have to know where he was falling? Alfred didn't think he did. All that mattered was finding peace. Perhaps there would be people who could tell him where to go.

A chill went through him. The air was suddenly colder.

And through all the thoughts, Alfred somehow found himself calm enough for rest. He'd been falling for long enough now, perhaps he could handle falling some more after a small nap.

Perhaps that was what had spared him. The air got even colder, and for the first time the angel was under the view of the moon. That light didn't wake him. He made hardly a sound as he fell the last few miles, narrowly avoiding getting impaled on a rusty, jagged cross sticking high into the sky.

By some miracle, the angel landed on a pile of canvas sacks. The merciful landing didn't wake him, nor did the flickering of his halo as it fell from his head and rolled a distance away.

'Invisible to all, the mind becomes a wall, all of history deleted with one stroke...And they're breaking through...'

After a few hours, Alfred blearily opened his eyes after feeling a few cold drops, making him jolt in surprise. Almost with a chirp of delight at discovering he had landed, he stumbled to his feet and started to hurry away, before his big eyes caught onto the halo laying on the ground.

Before he could think about it too much, he was carrying his halo in one hand while walking around the damp grey streets, struggling to see. The darkness was difficult for him to peer through, even with the help of the moon.

He wasn't frightened. Rather, he was hopeful that there was someone around. Even his halo didn't concern him, it probably just lost connection to Heaven and stopped working. That was what he kept telling himself, even if he didn't really understand it.

The little angel continued to walk alone, freezing in his short tunic while he looked in wonder around the mysterious place. There was water falling from the sky, and the level on the ground never fell below Alfred's ankles. But with wretched determination, he marched on, despite how violently he was shivering from the cold rain.

As he braved the swampy city, Alfred remained unaware of the gleaming eyes watching him from high above.

Once the rain got a little less heavy, Alfred could narrow his eyes and see a little bit into the distance, and what looked like a tall, dark wall stood strong over the horizon. Alfred wondered what it could be for, since it couldn't possibly be to keep anyone from leaving. That would be just silly, and no one was that cruel.

Alfred couldn't feel his toes. His body was beginning to get tired, and he realised he must have been walking for a long time. Not like he could fly in this state. Hugging himself and hunching forward, the weary little angel couldn't manage to renew his earlier determination.

But he was here for a reason, and he would do whatever it took to get back home. He whispered that promise to himself, his teeth chattering.

'I don't know how I got this way, I know it's not alright, so I'm breaking the habit, I'm breaking the habit tonight...'

When Alfred felt like he was just about to collapse and have to crawl in the murky water, three shadows emerged and stood in front of him. He blinked at them in confusion at first, until he realised they were people. Definitely not angels, but they were people.

"Hello!" he greeted cheerfully, unaware of how much of a mess he looked. His tunic was completely soaked and would never again be white. His feathers weren't white either, instead splashed with grey and brown. His legs had mud all the way up to his knees.

The way the light hit them, and from the angle he was at because of his short height, Alfred couldn't see their eyes. They leered down at him. "Hello, little one." the middle one purred. "Tell me, what is an angel such as yourself trudging around a treacherous place such as this? Are you lost?"

Alfred tilted his head. "I do not think I am lost." he pouted thoughtfully, looking at all three of them. "I am searching for the place that can find peace. When I do that, the angels said I can come back to Heaven!"

Tilting his head, the middle one knelt down in the mud in front of Alfred. Now his pale, sleek face was in the light. "Well," he started, chuckling too much to say anything at first. "This is the last place you would find peace. I can tell you that much. Why did the angels send you down here to find peace? Don't you know where you are?"

Instead of answering, Alfred stared, eyes wide with wonder at the creature before him. "I like your..." he trailed off, reaching a hand forward to touch one of the black protrusions from the man's head. "I like your halos. They are different from mine." he grinned, and held up his dull gold halo to the man.

On all three of them, then, Alfred noticed those halos, black wings, and a tail. He wasn't quite sure why they were laughing, but he found himself giggling too.

"Will you play with me?" he asked them once they had all quieted.

Somehow, he convinced all three of them to play with him in the rain. He taught them games when they didn't know what he was talking about. They laughed when he slipped and fell after skipping about enthusiastically. He danced and pretended, coming up with wild worlds and soulful fantasies that sometimes intrigued the three. They played along with him.

"Where did that come from?" asked one of them when Alfred invented a made-up castle.

"My head," he answered the man, as if it were obvious.

There was something about the way that the three men watched Alfred that made the angel curious; they kept sharing wide, toothy grins, and their laughter did not sound the same as his. Sometimes they scoffed when he added in some other rule to the game, and a lot of the time they sneered at him. But it didn't really make Alfred think anything bad. They were just new to playing, so he was going to teach them!

He even made up some new games that were hopefully easier to understand. They never contributed to the worlds and roles Alfred set up, and Alfred wondered if it was because they just didn't have any imagination. He pitied them for that.

So, for awhile, the men continued to humour him while he wandered down the streets. The rain didn't bother him as much, now that there was company. But it was still really cold and he wished one of them would notice and hug him to keep him warm. But, he reasoned, if they didn't have any imagination, how could they have consideration like angels did?

Alfred was tempted to teach them about consideration too, until his hand brushed against the hand of one of the men. His skin was even colder than the chilly breeze.

He decided not to try after that.

The water climbed up his shins, and he started shivering so hard that his voice was shaking while he described a new world to the men.

"...But there is a large beast that prevents us from reaching the other side! But together we can pull through and defeat it! Ah..." Alfred noticed the men were murmuring amongst each other. "W-well, I suppose it is getting late. Perhaps we should stop playing?" he suggested tiredly to them, rubbing his eyes with a numb hand.

The middle man nodded in agreement, his grin widening. "I agree. I think it's time we talk about something more serious." his expression darkened.

Alfred tilted his head to show he was listening, but he was huddled in on himself so tightly it looked like his knees were about to give. "I'm afraid you've walked into a dangerous place. If it's any consolation, I'm sure someone misses you."

"I do not understand." Alfred giggled when the man smirked.

"What I'm saying is...This is no place for angels."

It became clear quite quickly that Alfred wasn't going to understand. He couldn't. His mind just wasn't capable of it. But he would eventually come to terms with it. The men all stood around him, and he felt safe. These were his friends. They had played with him and kept him company in this big, unfamiliar place. They made him happy and he hoped he made them happy in return. Maybe with them he could find peace. Alfred thought with their help, he could cure his Rage and return to where he belonged in Heaven. It just seemed so obvious that they were the answer after they were so kind to him.

Well, demons will be demons.

Before Alfred could process what was happening, he had been thrown to the ground and ravaged, claws and fangs ripping into him at all angles. Initially, he was in shock, but his nerves finally started working and he screamed in agony.

Where had he gone wrong? Why were these men hurting him? Alfred had never known pain before, not like this. He wailed and sobbed, digging his heels into the hard stone ground and arching his back with every infliction. He could feel every new thing, every claw breaking his skin, every fang taking a piece of him. His insides spilled from him and the murky water went from a mindless grey to a sickening maroon. The rain only stung then.

The three demons were starving, having not eaten for years. That night they feasted on a mere child who had so graciously wandered into their territory after being sent down from above. They didn't share either; they took what they could, and after they'd had their fill, they left him. On his back. Alone. Gouged out and dying in the cold rain.

Time passed like it was swimming through molasses. The life left Alfred's once clear blue eyes like the blood left his body. The demons had been messy eaters, and various organs were scattered around him. If Alfred could touch his chest, he could feel his heart giving out, pulsing weaker and weaker. He didn't have working lungs anymore, so his heart wasn't sure what to do. It couldn't function anymore. Neither could his mind.

Thoughts were fading in and out, none of it could give an answer. He was even beyond wondering anymore.

His eyes were still open as the last sign of life trickled away, one last rattling breath, one last weakened pulse, one last tear sliding down a maimed face. The breath wasn't even strong enough to make a visible cloud in the cold air. His eyes stared blankly at the gruelling sky above.

'I'll feel my heart implode, and I'm breaking out, escaping now...Feeling my faith erode...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sounds of sobbing in the back* I'M OKAY I PROMISE
> 
> So XD This, um, wasn't really a chapter, but it is part of the Messenger universe. Alfred's origins, I'll call it? It will be in three parts, but not in succession. As you can probably gather, it's based off of Erik Satie's Gymnopédies. The three pieces are gorgeous and sad, and basically the classical version of what we can ambient music today. I'm pretty sure these pieces are part of where the genre came from XD Anyway, I wanted to experiment with a different kind of music in Messenger to introduce where Alfred came from. I do love me some classical music :D Next chapter we'll get right back to Paranomia!
> 
> (Psst I used a Youtube link that lasts an hour because the actual piece is like three minutes long XD So to have the sadness last while you read, I put up this one~)
> 
> To explain a little bit, Alfred was cast out of Heaven because of his Rage. This was long before he meets Arthur, though if you squinted, you might've seen Arthur in there ;) So, because Rage could potentially have killed other angels or himself, Alfred is sentenced to live out the rest of his life in Hell. His sin, as the archangels put it to be formal, was anger. That, logically, means he should get sent to the fifth level of Hell according to Dante's Inferno. In the Messenger universe, the levels of Hell are called circles, so technically the fifth circle of Hell XD
> 
> Arthur and Alfred are in the first circle, which is where the people who don't accept Christ are sent. The famous philosophers we all know and love are there. There is no real "punishment" in the first circle, which is why there is such a concentration of organised demons there. But it's not Heaven. The reason Alfred is there in the first place will be explained throughout the next two pieces :P
> 
> So Track has gone well I guess :D I made it to Regionals, and now it's time to see if I can make it to State! I actually wouldn't have updated because of that, but...Well yesterday, the Twenty-second of April, was Messenger's birthday! I almost missed it XD So this thing has been around for a year now physically, not just in my head :) Just something that I think is nice :D
> 
> I hope y'all are doing alright, life's been pretty good over here :D School will let out pretty soon, and my summer is gonna be awesome! I hope you guys are doing just as well :)
> 
> So I'm not sure when I'll update next, but it definitely won't be this sad XD
> 
> **Disclaimer! I don't own Satie's music, Muse, Linkin Park, Dante's Inferno, or the Bible :D
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> Can anyone guess what the random italicised parts are? ;)
> 
> ~Madz


	2. Alfred's Experience

O~o~O

'Whatever they say, these people are torn! Wild and bereft, assassin is born!"'

Newborn demons tended to make the easiest meals.

Not all demons were cannibals, but hardly any of them could pass up the chance for the warm, milky taste of an angel that still lingered on them. Newborns couldn't defend themselves, as they were still getting a grip and coming to terms with what was happening to them. It was quite a horrifying experience, after all, to realise just how desolate and alone and unloved it's possible to be. Heaven did its job just a little too well in masking the sheer evil of the rest of the worlds to its children. Or maybe the big angels just didn't want to face the challenge of explaining such large concepts to small minds. Especially not when some of those small minds would be sent to Hell anyway, where knowledge didn't mean anything and no one had to care.

It was a system of convenience, when seen from the outside. It was the reason most demons despised angels. The lucky ones.

Newborns were not strong, and were victims of uncontrollable emotions and the natural consequences of not getting enough to eat or sleep. They were at the very bottom of the order in Hell, the minnows to the sharks. They were like balloons, vulnerable and susceptible to any sort of influence like wind, compared to destructive wrecking balls all around them.

And the wind usually blew them in a very dark direction.

It was one big recurring cycle once an angel fell. Being filled with such relentless hate on such a massive scale made for a quick corruption, an easy trance formation built on nothing but the very feelings angels were taught not to have. The newborns started out by being hunted, tormented both by greedy, hungry demons, and realising their place in the universe. That sort of darkness just couldn't be put into words.

And it was always so bothersome, so annoying to have to fight off other demons delusional with hunger and still lose. Lose bits and pieces and a little more sanity each time, all too often. Having to understand such torture took a long time. Some of them would never fully understand or grasp it, because the answer became too frustrating to seek. Like sheep, they'd get caught up in the system and follow along blindly, with only hatred as the shepherd.

That was when the physical transformation really began, when they'd lose their feathers and their blood became cold. When their skin lost it's colour and their horns and tail would begin to appear.

Once they were strong enough to fight back, hateful enough to have the will, those newborns would start to overpower their attackers, and even win a few. Like creatures of intimidation, they'd(figuratively) puff out their feathers and try to strike fear into all those who crossed them. Fear was a tool they'd learn to harness swiftly. They felt they had to, of course, as it seemed to be the only way to get the other demons to leave them alone. Soon after fear was pain, once they got bold enough to try vengeance.

They all started out by thinking all they wanted was just to be alone to deal with their feelings. But, after getting a taste of blood, most of them found that their goals had changed. They wanted more, they wanted more of that thrill they got in the middle of a fight, more of that satisfaction they felt by being able to make another demon scream.

And then, the hunted became the hunters.

The cycle was never ending, if sometimes stalled and slow. The new demons sometimes would learn of Satan, of the circles and of earth. Of God's crimes and of freedom. Of independence. Some demons never fully made it out of the dark, and knew of nothing in the world but the fact that they existed and the fact that they hated everything and everyone they came across.

Alfred could never answer why there was so much hatred, not while he was lying on his back in the rain trying not to cry because he couldn't reach his injured wings to heal them. Not while he ran for his life in a storm, limping and flying clumsily for any form of cover. Not while his Rage gripped him and led him like a chain to the slaughterhouse, where instead he was the slaughterer.

He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, at least he didn't think. The Rage was making him unsure of who he really was, and it made him forget that he had ever been anywhere but Hell. Nothing existed anymore but the present where Alfred felt like he was going in circles. He did nothing but the same thing, hoping for different results, and it never worked. He was caught up in the system just like everyone else.

'Absent gods, and silent tyranny, we're going under, hypnotised by another puppeteer...'

His first kill left him giddy and sick. On shaking legs, he moved a distance away until he collapsed, unable to control his muscles out of shock. All that he could smell, all that he could see and taste was the blood, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. He didn't think he really wanted to make anything of it. From that distance, he watched the still body until it disappeared to its grave. And then he watched the spot where it used to be until the cold didn't bother him anymore.

Initially, he didn't think too much about the odd, hurt feeling he got when he injured or killed a demon. The general sentiment in Hell was that regret and mercy didn't exist. There wasn't a place for it in such a lawless world.

That was, until he met the angel.

After Rage had released him once again, Alfred ran away from the lifeless body and hid in a distant corner to nurse his wounds. He was filled with anger and confusion, such hate and such desolation, and it made his head pound. And the wounds on his chest and stomach were just too low for him to reach to heal, so he was frustrated, upset, and hurt. And frightened. So of course, realising he was being watched did not do him any favour.

He tried to growl, tried to back away. But the sound in his throat became choked, and he couldn't move very far from the entity before him.

It was a curious creature, really, pale and clad in white with big white wings and gold...Alfred squinted and tilted his head, vaguely recalling such an appearance. The creature, the...snow-white being came closer very slowly, very delicately. Step by step, he drew nearer. What struck Alfred most was the green, bright green eyes focused right on him, so sharp that Alfred felt like he was baring his blackened soul to the creature before him.

From those green eyes, a silver trail fell, the expression on the creature's face seeming pained. Very carefully, the creature knelt before Alfred once they were close enough to just reach out and touch one another.

Every signal in Alfred's mind screamed for him to run, to flee and get away as fast as he could, but the creature held him in place with nothing but a vague reassurance in his face. Something about him looked like he intended no harm. Alfred was cornered by nothing but this creature and its innocence.

There was a name for the creature, there had to be. A faint, rippling memory grazed Alfred's mind, of white robes and feathers and gold rings...Was it...Home? Hea...Heaven? Alfred was suddenly allowed a brief, dizzying glimpse into a world he had long forgotten. A world so distant in his past that he wondered how he remembered and how he could forget it at the same time. It was gone as quickly as it came, but it was enough to supply him with the word he was looking for.

What was an angel doing down here...?

The angel moved, startling Alfred, by reaching up to his own face and wiping away the silver trails. And then, meeting Alfred's eyes with a fearful resolution, the angel slowly reached for the demon's nearest wound.

Alfred held his breath, and shut his eyes very tightly. But after a moment, the pain in his chest began gently ebbing away.

Of course, Alfred had forgotten all of it. He relaxed just slightly, encouraging the angel to continue his work. Tears, those made up the silver trails, those tears fell from the angel's eyes, filling Alfred with a strange feeling. Something in him wanted to stop the tears, and he didn't understand why. If the tears healed him, if the tears were good, what about them made him want to stop the angel from having them?

Once the wounds were sealed, the angel leaned back and stood, spreading his big white wings. Alfred found himself blinking at the sheer gracefulness and simplicity of the angel. How was it possible for such a perfect being to exist? Had Alfred just been in the dark so long that he couldn't even begin to fathom the beauty of light? Was this kindness the difference between angels and demons? Just as the angel turned, Alfred opened his mouth, and called to him just before he could fly away.

"Why did you do that?"

The angel stopped, and the question was met with silence. For a moment, Alfred wondered if the angel had even understood him. But then, with the elegance of the moon revealing itself through the clouds, the angel turned back to look at him with those searing eyes again. He kept an even gaze on Alfred, taking a thoughtful moment, before he opened his mouth to reply.

"Because it was right."

And then he was gone. The angel flew off into the fog so fast that Alfred would have missed it had he blinked. That voice...The tone was so warm and calm, Alfred could believe for just one moment that he had been cared for...

''Cause you don't know what you've got, till it's gone...'

Alfred could never quite think the same way after the encounter with that angel.

It was like his brain had been rewired yet again, to a calmer, milder state. He found himself unable to reach that particular bliss while fighting like he could before, nor was he able to deny the guilt that ached in him when he hurt or killed someone. It started out as dull and irritating, but it eventually got so painful that it was impossible to ignore. Alfred couldn't stand causing suffering like he'd been doing for so long.

He began trying to actively control his Rage.

But it led to even worse situations.

"What a coward! What a pathetic coward!"

"Get up on your feet, yellow-belly!"

He'd tried to warn them, he really did. He begged for them to leave him alone, just like he was a newborn again. It was like he'd cycled back to square one, only a little wiser and a lot stronger. Too strong. He did all he could to keep them away, but it was rarely to any avail. Once they began to frustrate him, it all went downhill.

It only took one small falter for the rest of his control to fall away like dust. And the transformation was always painful; his spine stretched, his horns grew larger, his wings spread so far that it felt like the taut skin would break. From there, like the snapping of a rubber band, the rest of him erupted into shape, becoming larger and harder and rougher down to the very marrow of his bones.

By that point, anyone bearing witness would have fallen silent out of shock, curious as to what was happening and why he was yelling in pain. His voice became deeper very suddenly, his cries then were low, grating growls, and the sound became so loud that it felt like the entire space around them was vibrating.

And then, he would look up at his next victims with furious, blood-red eyes.

It seemed like the mess got bigger with every kill. He never went at them the same way; he'd go for a leg or a neck, and in the midst of it, he couldn't tell the difference between anyone. They all looked the same. Same colour, same shape. All he could feel was their faint body heat, or the cold blood as it spattered all around and all over him. He could taste it, too, and the taste was revolting but he couldn't stop. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel anything besides the primal desire to kill, to stop the life in anyone who dared to cross him.

The more he tried to control it, the worse it got. It seemed he needed more to get him to stop if he tried to hold it off, and the transformation was more dramatic and painful the more he attempted to delay it. If he let it happen, he might only have to kill one or two demons. But if he waited, if he held it off and fought it, it would still overtake him anyway and he'd end up hunting for a much larger number.

These were possibly the hardest years of his life. He didn't think about his past anymore, and almost completely forgot about what he'd been promised by Heaven. Obviously, he didn't deserve to go back after killing so much. All that mattered was that angel that had saved him that one time...He wanted to feel like that again, like he wasn't a monster. He wanted to feel like he wasn't alone. Like his life was worth something.

'It's unnatural selection, and I want the truth!'

So he started trying to make his way out of the circle he was in. He'd heard somewhere that the closer he could get to purgatory, the less he would hurt. That idea appealed to him a lot.

He put together little bits and pieces, sometimes disconnected at first until they could make sense. The only way he knew how to learn was to listen to the people around him. Most of the time, he could only get pointed in the general direction of where he wanted to go. He wasn't exactly clever about finding answers; he didn't really know how to be. Not without accidentally threatening someone, and he tried very hard not to do anything like that. He also avoided fights at all costs. That way, the only demons he killed were the ones who provoked him.

The rains never really stopped, and it was very difficult to fly. Alfred had never quite mastered using his wings in the fifth circle, so most of his progress was made by marching through the dense, flooded streets. It wasn't like when he was little; he was bigger now, and older. Marked by age and weighed down by guilt.

It was so humid at times that Alfred felt like he could barely breathe. He didn't know how the air could manage to be so thick and yet so cold...His heart would struggle shallowly in his chest, and it took all he had to keep marching on. All he had to do to remind himself why he was still going was to remember the angel.

It wasn't until he'd reached the boundary that he realised just how useful his wings could be. The only way he knew to go through was by climbing the mountain of a wall that separated the wrathful from the greedy. It was steep and perilous, with no room to think about anything other than the risk of falling. The wet, craggy wall could not be trusted, as the surface was slick and it could give out at any moment.

The first time he started to climb it, he fell off within the night, not even halfway to the top. A loud, grating screech had resounded above him, startling him so much that he lost his grip and went tumbling to the bottom. He landed heavily, hurt, and angry and upset, but still determined to keep trying. Remember the angel.

He wasn't the only one trying to climb it, of course. The wall was absolutely massive and demons from all around were trying to climb to escape the rainy punishment of the fifth circle. It seemed the physical demands it took to get out of the circle were great for a reason, and Alfred began to wonder if making over meant he was worthy of being forgiven for his sins. He began to climb again.

The higher he got, the worse the conditions seemed to be. His third try on the second night got him only metres away from the top, but he underestimated a reach and his hand slipped. The rain was always too heavy for him to try flying back up once he started falling.

Once he could catch his breath, he'd try again, not stopping for sleep or to eat. Remember the angel. On the third night, he tried taking off his gloves to get a better grip. With numb hands and blue fingers, he forced himself up as far as he could go. He tried to use his wings to assist his climb, but all it did was make him more tired. If he stood still too long, he'd slip anyway. That time, it was his shoes that didn't give him the traction he needed, and he struck his jaw on a protruding rock on the way down. Out of sheer anger, as soon as he landed in the freezing, murky water, Alfred yelled and Raged on nothing in particular.

Taking off his shoes on the fourth night helped a little more; he was able to at least get above the halfway point regularly then, but the rain still did him no favour. He couldn't feel his fingers or toes by the time he was that far up, and the his palms and soles were so calloused, so cut up that sometimes he only slipped because it stung too much to get a grip.

That time, he landed in a defeated heap, and did nothing but curse himself for hours on end. But he was exhausted, and fell asleep in the water not long after he had no words left. His rest was dreamless and blank, but so needed and deep that Alfred forgot where he was when he became aware of the worlds again. When he got up on the fifth night, he hunted for a poor, unsuspecting soul to eat before he got back to the wall. "Remember the angel...Remember the angel..." he chanted softly to himself as he climbed up once more.

Circumstance kept him from getting close to the top. It seemed like conditions would remain unfavourable for him forever, but he was too stubborn and too persistent to let things like fate get in his way. He had to get over, and he would even if it was the last thing he did. He still fell, but he still managed to convince himself to get up and try again.

On the sixth night, he tried taking off his shirt to free his arms. He thought with the ability to reach out that much farther, and to be able to use his wings without restraint, he just might be able to get over. And he nearly did; despite the cold and the numbness in his arms, he made it just a couple of metres from the top before he shivered just a little too hard, causing his muscles to seize up and make him lose his grip.

He very nearly lost his temper then, but he managed to keep his head by some miracle. The rain came down harder. But he knew he needed to be rested and full before he could try again.

'Sing for Absolution, I will be singing, and falling from your grace...'

On the seventh night, he repeated the one thought in his head that mattered, and got to climbing again.

Remember the angel.

Step by step, rock by rock, Alfred tested his grip each time and made sure his feet wouldn't slip out from under him. On the longer reaches, he'd flap his wings and lash out his tail for balance. He was careful with how fast he went and how often he resorted to his wings.

Remember the angel.

The rain made for some rocks to be difficult to grab onto, and it would take several moments with numb fingers, whispered self assurances, and straining muscles just to get above them. But he could do it. When the wind got too strong for him to move, Alfred would grip the rocks as tightly as he could with stinging fingers and toes, and his back would ache after keeping him up for so long, but he would grit his teeth and wait there until he could move again.

Remember the angel.

Sometimes he had to wait for what felt like hours, and as long as it was safe, he'd use the time to sharpen the weak claws on his wings. He hadn't thought of using his wings like that before, but he realised if he could get them sharp enough, he'd have two more limbs to work with his arms. After enough time getting toughened up from the rough rocks, he was finally able to extend his reach without wasting precious breath.

Distantly, he could hear the wails and howls of those who fell like he had so many times before. But, not wanting to be like them anymore, Alfred kept on climbing with a newly discovered determination he didn't know he had in him. It was then he realised that if he wanted to get over the wall, he couldn't rely on chance or conditions. He had to do it on his own.

Remember the angel.

Only a few metres from the top, Alfred stopped, afraid he was going to fall. He was shaking, his muscles exhausted from having kept up for so long. But he was nearly there. "Remember the angel..." he whispered hoarsely, and kept on climbing.

His hand slipped and he cried out. But the claws in his wings out of instinct reached forward and latched onto the wall before he could lose his balance completely. Heart pounding, Alfred reached up again and continued, so close to the end that he could just feel it. "Remember the angel, remember the angel, remember the angel!" he nearly sobbed, reaching desperately for the top.

A hand reached it first, then a wing, and then a leg. He hauled himself over the edge, and rolled a little away from the wall he'd just scaled.

For a moment, he just breathed, his muscles sore and stinging as he just lay there under the dark sky.

And then, he realised it wasn't raining.

He sat up immediately and looked around. He was at the top! He'd finally done it! And there wasn't any rain in the next circle...Alfred was still cold, but he would be able to live.

Despite how exhausted he was, he was too excited to be able to get any rest, so he stood up slowly and started walking in the direction he'd been going from the start.

Remember the angel.

He began jogging, and then running faster in a hurry. And finally, he started trying to use his wings properly because it felt like for the first time in his life he was actually dry and not being pelted by the freezing rain. In his delight, he let out a triumphant howl of victory. For once, he was on his way to doing something good.

It didn't take him long to come across the other edge of the wall. He didn't hesitate to jump; he'd fallen far too many times for him to be afraid anymore.

The fourth circle wasn't nearly as bad as the fifth. Alfred finally learned how to fly; the entire circle was basically a giant, gradual hill upward, and it was all dry. Alfred observed the demons around the area, who were caught up in protecting their possessions and trying to take them up the hill. But the weight they tried to push kept them from making it very far. Alfred wondered why they treasured such material things so much.

They were very strange things too, things that could be replaced easily. But Alfred supposed that time had placed much more value on those items to those demons that they felt they just couldn't leave any of it behind. Alfred discovered he wasn't very sentimental at all; he'd willingly left his gloves and shoes and shirt back in the fifth circle.

The third circle made Alfred think he'd gone the wrong direction, but somehow he knew he was in a different place. The smell was strange, and the rain was much colder. The demons who resided in the third circle were also greedy, but for nourishment rather than possession. Alfred encountered more cannibals than he had in the fifth circle, but none of them bothered him because he was flying too fast for them to keep up. The rain wasn't as hard as it was in the fifth circle, and he at least had a handle of how to fly around in it. The more Alfred saw, the more he could tell that the smell was a combination of stomach acid and rotting corpses. There was always a faint smell of that where he was from anyway, but seeing it just made it all worse.

Once a body was completely dead and devoid of life, it would disappear to be buried by magic. That was what Alfred had learned in the fifth circle. But, in the third circle, he realised the reason he could still see all the bodies was because some part of them was still alive, and they had been left to rot until their hearts would finally give out. It was truly a very strange and horrible punishment.

The second circle was probably the most uncomfortable. The winds carried him, and whipped him back and forth until he could develop the strength to fight it. The demons there were very loving, and Alfred tried to avoid them as much as he could because they would get too close to him for comfort. Generally very touchy-feely, they sometimes engaged in an odd dance of sorts that Alfred didn't understand. It seemed to be very pleasurable for demons who took part. Alfred didn't care to figure out what it was, and kept on his way as much as he could against the harsh wind.

He also found a way to get clothes again, just because the demons got far too close and stared too much for him to want to go without a shirt anymore.

It was only when he had crossed the boundary to the first circle that Alfred heard of the Demonocracy, the order of government over ungovernable creatures.

It was a strange system, really. Almost everyone in the first circle was required to serve the Demonocracy, doing some sort of work but for a purpose that no one ever seemed quite able to explain.

Almost as soon as he arrived, he was given a uniform, assigned a place to live, and placed with a low class to train with. It was strange to have a form of routine after living in a lawless place for so long. But it wasn't all that bad. He discovered quickly that the more he held back in this place, the less he had to engage in fights that would invoke his Rage. As long as no one thought he was particularly strong, everything would be fine.

He thought about that angel occasionally, and wondered what he was thinking about, what he was doing right then. Did he ever have to fight for his life? Did he know what it was to kill? Alfred didn't think so, but he still hoped the angel wouldn't have to.

Working for the Demonocracy took his mind off his troubles. He didn't have to think too hard, and he could stay in one place for as long as he wanted. He could also stay in shape, stay on his toes and live relatively peacefully. Unlike the fifth circle, he hardly ever had to worry about not being able to eat or sleep.

He was finally able to control his Rage to some degree. Sometimes, it would come up again, but there wasn't as much damage as there was before. Despite the fact there were still victims, he didn't feel nearly as bad about it now that there were others around who knew what to expect.

It was very easy to forget that he had ever wanted more when no one bothered him, no one needed anything and he didn't have to do much but work a little.

But one day, he heard of a demon rising up in the ranks of the army who they called Paranomia...

'Hope decays, generations disappear, washed away, as a nation simply stares...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I'm finally on break for Thanksgiving, so I actually have time to write! XD So this origins chapter was a little less about sobbing and more about loudly rooting for Alfred while he tries to dig himself out of Hell :')
> 
> I feel like "Remember the Angel" would look great on a T-shirt or something XD Because, for Alfred, remembering the angel is a sort of metaphor for anyone's reason for doing anything. It's not something like remember the Alamo or whatever, but to me it's something a little deeper and personal. For Alfred, meeting that angel was a life-changing event; it altered everything in his mind and gave him something to go out and work for. I believe we all have a moment like that in our lives, where everything changed and suddenly we could see what we wanted and what we needed to do. So that leads me to ask, what's your angel? :D
> 
> It kinda makes me sad to think that Arthur has always been a guiding light to Alfred, and then when they were finally reunited, Arthur actually had completely forgotten about Alfred at least until he was prompted to remember :')
> 
> There are only three Gymnopédies! So that means only one more chapter of Alfred's origins XD And, if you're familiar with either U2 or William Blake, there's nothing after Innocence and Experience. So it'll be more of a present time thing in the story, a summary of Alfred's thoughts on the events of Messenger so far. We've been following Arthur this whole time, so I think it's a nice little mix to add in where Alfred stands :D
> 
> Hopefully I'll have time for a Christmas special again this year :D I have a plan for it, I just don't know how it'll fit within the arc because I definitely won't finish the Resistance arc before the new year :/ Oh well XD
> 
> Disclaimer** I don't own Hetalia, Erik Satie's super cool music, the phrase Remember the Alamo, or basically anything really tbh except the writing and interpretations of songs and stuff...idk
> 
> The artist of the cover image is Makoyana!! She's amazing, please go follow both for whimsical art and fantastic stories!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!
> 
> ~Madz


	3. Alfred's Existence

Alfred was curious.

He sat by himself like every other night, looking out of his little home into the vast city of hell. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the opening of his place, glancing all across the urban decay. It rained gently, the ground below was damp and dead like everything else. But the scent of the humid air was refreshing to him; he breathed in deeply, and then let out a long, satisfied sigh.

Finally, he had a chance to relax after many hours of intense training. And still, he felt burdened. The commanders at the base were starting to see through his little charade, and were noticing that he had much more to offer as a soldier than he showed. So, they tried to bring out his power by moving him up. But Alfred was resistant to it; he didn’t want to fight, he didn’t want to be provoked into killing again. He tried to warn them to be careful, insisting they didn’t know what kind of explosive threat they dealt with. Unfortunately, the more dangerous he was, the more he was worth to the Demonocracy.

Alfred didn’t even want to think about what they would do with a demon capable of Rage. Perhaps they’d try to find a way to make the condition permanent? As far as he knew, they didn’t know how to control him. But they could learn. If they figured out a way to turn him into a killing machine, was there really a way for him to stop them?

Images of a life spent locked away, in a constant fit of Rage only to be freed when it was time for battle filled his head. He imagined the cold chains, the impenetrable stone, anything they could do to keep him compromised. He wouldn’t go willingly, of course, but that unwillingness would only make the Rage stronger. Many would die before they could tame him.

But if they did, if they managed to break him and chain him down for all eternity, what kind of havoc could they wreak upon Heaven? He didn’t like to think he alone could destroy Paradise, but there was no way of knowing what Rage was capable of. He imagined he could do a great deal of damage before anyone could stop him. But certainly, he hoped, there were upper-level angels that could put him out of his misery…

Remember the angel. Alfred closed his eyes and tried to remember that face from so long ago. But the memory was too vague. Even so, just thinking of that encounter calmed him for a reason he couldn’t quite pin. He never wanted to hurt anyone. And if it came to it, he would rather die than inflict more harm. Especially to the angels, for he himself had witnessed their gentleness.

He sighed as he thought of the angels, remembered remnants of a time when he was also such a pure being. He had long come to terms with the fact that he could never become one of them again. He would be a stain to them, a flaw in their glory. He would never be able to go back like they promised. There was no room in Heaven for an abomination like him.

So, he would be a good soldier. As long as the Demonocracy didn’t try to tap into his Rage, he would fight for them. He would try to be as insignificant as possible. By himself, he couldn’t do anything big. No one demon could.

At least, that was what he thought.

Over the next few moons, he noticed one specific demon causing a lot of fuss throughout the base. A lot of demons talked about him, but Alfred had only caught glimpses of this supposed terrifyingly powerful soldier. Nearly everyone seemed to be interested in him though, and Alfred tried to listen without becoming involved in the conversations.

“He’s so fast,” they’d say. “He never listens. But he always wins.”

Alfred tried to watch for this mysterious, boundless demon. What exactly was so special about him? He didn’t really stand out very much; this supposed ‘Paranomia’ was only distinguishable by his red hair. Lots of demons were fast and strong, and it wasn’t hard to disobey. He wasn’t too big either; he was actually very lean compared to the majority of the soldiers. Alfred couldn’t honestly see why the commanders were so interested in him.

But this Paranomia was soon moved up into his rank, and Alfred very quickly found out why.

He just couldn’t lose. The commanders threw everything they had at him, and Paranomia would easily overcome their challenges like he didn’t even have to try. Alfred had half a mind to think the demon was incapable of being defeated. He had sort of a following, but he sat by himself on one side of the room. His allies often sat on the same side nearby. Every waking hour, he was the first to show up and among the last to leave. If he wasn’t fighting, he was observing the army, sometimes off alone writing in a small journal he kept with him. But most other times, he was on guard and ready for a battle.

However, more important than his strength was his sympathy. There was a side of him that Alfred found to be more prominent than not, despite how often he was forced to fight. He noticed it first when Paranomia sent him flying to the floor for the first time.

He clattered to the ground in a clumsy heap, gritting his teeth in pain. His elbow had struck the floor and so had the side of his head, so for a brief moment the world turned without him. Alfred felt himself turning and rolled dizzily onto his back. His eyes searched around blindly until he could focus, and he clutched his arm close with an alarmed noise when he realized how much pain he was in.

While he focused on his breathing and trying to right himself, he didn’t even have it in him to be angry. Paranomia had taken him out so quickly, so effortlessly that he couldn’t even begin to feel like he’d stand a chance anyway. But still, frustrated and broken, he rolled on his other side and attempted to get to his feet.

“Are you alright?” Alfred blinked up dazedly, trying to identify the blurry figure the voice belonged to. It took a moment, but his sight finally focused and he recognized the demon, and let out a slight sigh. Paranomia stood before him, strong and firm, but Alfred thought he could vaguely see something else in his expression. If he squinted, he could see worried lines etched into the demon’s forehead, and could just make out a concerned look in his eyes.

Alfred coughed. “Fine,” he answered hoarsely, turning his back to the demon. He blinked hard and shook his head slightly, trying to clear his cloudy mind for long enough to get up. Each time he let out a ragged breath, he could move just a little further. He was trying so hard; he felt his muscles straining to move, but he was getting nowhere. His ears finally stopped ringing and he could hear the ongoing fight all around him. Knowing he had to get out of the way in case of further attack, he struggled to move with shaky arms and wobbly knees.

There was a sudden pressure on his back and under his arm, and it helped him gain balance. But at the same time, it startled him, and he clumsily whipped his head up to look around. Paranomia looked slightly guilty and backed off, having tried to nudge Alfred in the right direction. “You’ll be okay.” the demon muttered to him, before turning and fending off another demon just as fast.

It was only after he’d stumbled out of the fight that Alfred realized Paranomia had defended him from several demons while he was vulnerable, and tilted his head. He watched from a distance, how viciously Paranomia fought, how quick and skilled he was in the air. Alfred wouldn’t have believed it was possible for anyone to be so adept and nimble if he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes. The sheer power packed behind every attack, the expertly calculated wing movements, even his tail whipped around with a purpose in every fight he engaged in. Alfred could just tell he was still practically buzzing with untapped potential that the Demonocracy wanted, without a doubt. Paranomia was unique, and Alfred decided he wanted to keep an eye on the strange demon.

After all, the Demonocracy seemed determined to exploit them both.

So, Alfred watched Paranomia from a good distance over a short period of time. He watched when Paranomia extended his hand to another, hoisting the demon over his shoulder and carrying him away to be healed. He watched when Paranomia backed off purposefully in a battle, when he recognized his opponent had a nasty concussion. He watched from across the room as Paranomia accepted several requests for Opia with a modest smile.

Alfred wasn’t sure he’d ever met a demon with the same qualities Paranomia possessed. The longer he watched, the more be became certain that the demon was truly, honestly his own breed. The few times he acted like a normal demon, he seemed uncomfortable. But when he wasn’t even trying, when he was consistently the odd demon out, he was still the most bold and the most terrifying of them all.

It then occurred to Alfred that the reason Paranomia was so scary was because he was also kind.

If Alfred knew anything, he knew that demons were not kind. Demons were cruel and ruthless, hardened like stone. But Paranomia seemed to be more fluid; there was more to him than just the gilded champion of the base. There were other sides to him as well. He could be aloof and lost one moment, and then cold and callous the next. What made him so frightening was that no one quite knew what to expect.

The kindness, particularly, was ominous; why? Why was he so kind? There had to be some kind of dark motivation behind it, like placing all the demons in debt to him. Alfred vaguely imagined a haughty, pretentious Paranomia, commanding millions indebted to him. But for a reason he couldn’t quite place, Alfred really couldn’t get a clear picture of Paranomia being anything close to pretentious.

Maybe he had just been a demon for too long. Down in hell, it was every man for themselves, and manipulation was just one of the ways to get by. It would come as no surprise if Paranomia was just masquerading around, pretending to be compassionate like some kind of angel, only to turn around and stab everyone in the back. That was how the game went in hell. Perhaps Paranomia was just a creative player.

But Alfred really doubted that. Paranomia consistently went by his own rules to his own game, seemed unfamiliar with how hell worked, and with the expectations put on him by the demons around them. He was clumsy with interactions and common vernacular like he was foreign to hell. He didn’t even know what Opia was, from what Alfred heard. Clearly, he wasn’t local. Alfred assumed he may be one of those damned souls he’d encountered in deeper circles that were alone and lost, bereft of all contact to the outside world. That, or he was from somewhere very far from the first circle, eluded by the Demonocracy.

Alfred faintly wondered what kind of angel he would have been like in heaven, with such power and skill he had. Was he always so strong? Maybe it contributed to his rejection from paradise.

He became somewhat fond of Paranomia. He observed him every chance he could get, while keeping a safe distance at the same time. Finding he was a little shy to approach Paranomia, Alfred elected to instead quietly move over to his side. There was a growing number of demons allying themselves with Paranomia anyway, and Alfred decided he wouldn’t be noticed.

Sitting close enough to hear, but far away enough to not engage, Alfred listened to Paranomia’s quiet voice. He often spoke to Ivan and Basch, the first two to align themselves with the renegade demon. Other times, he would discuss tips to various demons, giving them advice on how to defend themselves better. Alfred laughed to himself when Paranomia was confused, and smiled when he could hear Paranomia gently encourage his allies. Truly, he was a strange one.

But he was also wearing thin. Alfred could see how he was gradually being worn out by the commanders’ constant attention. They were running him into the ground, and Paranomia looked to be struggling to keep up. He didn’t know how much longer Paranomia could stay strong and continue his trend of being undefeated. Phobos and Deimos could tell they were getting closer to breaking the lawless demon, and Alfred started wincing at every blow Paranomia took, knowing each hit could be the one that defeated him.

“Arthur.” Alfred overheard Ivan whisper quietly, early in one session. “You have to back down. You can’t take much more.”

Turning, Alfred watched Paranomia face Ivan with a dark look. “I can’t.” he said fiercely. “You know I can’t.” but there was a look in his eyes that chilled Alfred to the bone.

Arthur.

Alfred wondered why Ivan felt the need to use his real name. He must have been serious, and he guessed Ivan must care for Paranomia to some degree to express concern. That by itself was strange, the fact that Paranomia had such a loyal follower who could also treat him like a friend. There was suddenly a very lonely pang in his chest, and Alfred looked down at his hands. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Then, one fateful day, about a moon later, Paranomia didn’t say a word the entire time. He hung his head, and his hallowed face and heavy posture implied he could barely support his own weight. He looked hungry and tired, and he stood alone.

Ivan looked on from a distance, much like Alfred, and suddenly the two made eye contact.

Blinking, Alfred wasn’t sure how to acknowledge Ivan. But then, the demon’s dark eyes flickered over to Paranomia, and then back to Alfred. Assuming he understood, Alfred nodded to him. Paranomia needed help; he wouldn’t make it on his own this time. Alfred flashed Ivan a casual salute and a humorless grin.

Just then, the commanders flew in, directly in the middle of the room. It suddenly became very clear that the room was divided, and the commanders evidently wanted to keep it that way. They called the attention to themselves, in wide, sweeping motions, as if to mock them all.

“We have noticed how divided you are as an army!” Deimos grinned, turning and looking at every demon in the vicinity. “At first, we were determined to change that, since such a stance is not acceptable when battling the Angelicans. But, instead, we decided to experiment!”

Phobos then jumped in, flying forward to get the attention on him. “See as you are now! There is a group of old friends that remain loyal to each other!” he gestured to the opposite side of the room, and Alfred noticed a few demons around him flinch. “And then, we have a lesser group lead by Paranomia.” he spat the name out, aiming a challenging smirk right at him.

Alfred and most of the other demons then looked to Paranomia who lowered his head and snarled. Nothing could scare him, not even the prospect of his own defeat. Alfred felt a sudden surge of admiration in his chest for Paranomia, because even in the face of imminent defeat, the demon wouldn’t give in. He had a feeling he had chosen the right side of the room.

“The solution is obvious, yes? The two groups simply fight!” Deimos leered at them all, a triumphant glint in his eyes. “Rules are different, however. You cannot touch the floor, and you can only use the wall to rest. Are we clear?!”

The room was silent as Paranomia slowly rose to his feet. He stepped forward a little, and a few demons fell into step behind him. Ivan went to his right, and Alfred moved to his left. “Aye, sir.” Paranomia hissed darkly, glaring with searing eyes at both of the commanders.

Again, Ivan made eye contact with Alfred to signal their solidarity one last time, and they both braced to fly up with Paranomia. Alfred could feel his hands practically shaking with anticipation, and had to remember to breathe, though he felt like he didn’t really need to. Still, he sucked in a shallow breath, eyes darting between Ivan, Paranomia, and the commanders. His tail twitched nervously behind him, and he noticed how Paranomia’s flicked as well.

With a shout to indicate the start, Paranomia took off like a bullet and flew right into the mix of their opponents.

Alfred struggled to catch up, and both he and Ivan got caught up in a skirmish with some demons before they could reach him. Wrestling some demons off, Alfred looked desperately up at Arthur, who faced a mass of enemies all alone. There was nothing he could do except do his best to fight off the demons right in front of him.

It had been awhile since Alfred had been in such a large scale fight, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He and Ivan, as well as Basch and some others worked together, taking demons out one by one like they had been fighting side by side for years. The fast paced battle was almost fun, though Alfred felt bad to think so. He lashed out with a kick to cover Ivan, who in turn pulled back his fist and punched a demon right behind Alfred.

Basch got snagged by an enemy from behind, and Alfred quickly whipped around to free him. The offending demon fell, clutching his shoulder which bled after being torn at by Alfred’s horns. Hearing a yelp, Alfred turned, only to see Basch taking out a demon who had been about to attack Alfred. Smiling gratefully, Alfred returned his focus to the flurry of demons before him, and fought as fast as he could

There seemed to be no end to the amount of demons fighting against them. Alfred wondered, why were they so adamant to battle? Shouldn’t they be less concerned about each other and more concerned about the Angelicans? After getting nicked more than a few times by one stubborn demon, Alfred lost his patience and took him out rougher than he’d intended. Their numbers were thinning, but the biggest group of them still circled Paranomia.

They only just had room to breathe, just as Alfred took out one last demon and sent him below. “Paranomia!” he heard Ivan cry. Following his shocked look, Alfred’s eyes widened in horror. “Paranomia is falling!”

Without even thinking, Alfred abandoned them. His eyes were fixated on the one lone figure that mattered. Paranomia was limp, and seemed to be falling too fast to adjust himself, but Alfred didn’t want to believe he was completely out of the fight yet. Too much rode on his shoulders to let him go that easily.

He glanced around, trying to calculate the best way to intercept him. He had to get up slightly higher and then dive so he could match Paranomia’s velocity, and even then the wall was too close to stop safely. But it was better than nothing. Wrestling as high in the air as he could, Alfred took a big breath and finally let himself fall into a dive.

Coming in a little too fast, Alfred adjusted his wings just slightly, and opened his arms. The sheer amount of control became painful, and Alfred gritted his teeth. He forced himself to focus through narrowed eyes right up until he collided with Paranomia.

The rough adjustment took a toll on both of them, and Alfred had to compensate for the sudden force headed downwards. He didn’t have a lot of time until he hit the wall so he did everything he could to spread his wings and catch the air so he would slow down.

But finally, he was able to meet the wall as gently as he could, and he latched on to one of the iron candle holders above him, perching Paranomia on his knees. Taking his weight was no problem, but Alfred knew his boots couldn’t hold a grip on the wall for too long. Still, he was glad to see Paranomia wasn’t knocked out or anything.

Watching the demon come to his senses, Alfred was suddenly overcome by a sympathetic feeling. Paranomia had headed straight into the battle without any help, almost like he thought the whole room was against him. None of his allies were able to come to his aid, and it was lucky Alfred was able to catch him in the first place.

Opening his mouth to apologize, Alfred was suddenly aware of Paranomia’s hand hovering close to his head.

Very carefully, Paranomia’s wavering hand found Alfred’s head and patted it. The action was so unexpected that Alfred couldn’t help but laugh at the disoriented demon. Finally, his eyes were opening, and he seemed to vaguely be able to see Alfred.

Alfred grinned encouragingly. “Forgot you had a team, huh?” he asked, laughing again when Paranomia shook his head faintly, like he was trying to clear his mind. Patiently, Alfred waited, and flapped his wings slowly to keep himself on the wall.

Finally, Paranomia blinked at him with mostly focused eyes. His gloved hands suddenly curled through Alfred’s hair as an acknowledgement. “G-good catch.” he said hoarsely, and Alfred brightened.

“Thanks! You’re not too shabby yourself, you took out about half of them within five minutes!” Alfred noted, tilting his head back to indicate the remaining demons behind them. He was suddenly aware that Ivan, Basch, and some others had followed him and were waiting for Paranomia to come back. He grinned reassuringly at them. “Anyways, dude what was that? You do have a group, you know. Goin' in all Sparta might work for you, but I think we gotta plan how we're gonna win this thing.”

Paranomia shut his eyes again and thumped the palm of his hand against his head a few times. “Well, what do you suggest?” he inquired, looking at Alfred skeptically.

Alfred blinked. “Wh- I- er…” he heard Paranomia chuckle faintly. “I mean, you’re the leader of the group, right? Whatever you say goes!”

Frowning, Paranomia tilted his head. “R-really?” he asked, and suddenly he was looking over Alfred’s shoulder. Assuming their allies had come closer, Alfred nodded.

“...Ah. I see. In that case, I…” he stopped, looking around and taking in all the faces surrounding them. His face hardened, calculating a strategy that Alfred knew had to be genius. “I say we gather everyone who’s still flying and get up as high as we can. The last thing the other group expects is a diving attack.”

Grinning widely, Alfred let go of the candle holders with one hand to salute. “Aye, sir!” He checked to make sure Paranomia was okay to fly on his own before backing away. The demon certainly didn’t need anymore help, as he was already directing their allies around with a confidence Alfred hadn’t seen before.

As Paranomia led them into battle, Alfred never felt more sure in his life that he had made the right decision. He would follow Paranomia to the end of Hell if he had to.

“Let’s go, then,” Paranomia looked up with a rejuvenated expression, renewed and energized like never before. He flashed Alfred a grateful smile, before turning and ascending beside his allies this time. Alfred was right behind him.

He would follow Paranomia. He would follow Arthur.

But, he should have known it wouldn’t be easy.

Broken, disjointed memories of holding Paranomia up against the wall by his throat, watching the light leave his eyes haunted his mind. He could vaguely recall his complete Rage form, and feeling sheer power ripple through muscles he didn’t know he had. In his mind’s eye, he could see Arthur’s face distorted with pain as he beat the living hell out of the weakened demon. It felt like a blur, the torment he’d wrought on Arthur’s physical form.

Yes, he would follow Arthur, but at the same time, he would remember the angel. Learning that Paranomia was the same angel was both a relief and a burden. No one had brought more pain to Arthur than him, and Alfred hated himself for it.

It took so long for the fear to die every time they made eye contact. Alfred had worked so hard to make Arthur feel safe, he tended to the angel as carefully as he knew how to. Not a moment went by that Alfred doubted his decision to follow a renegade angel instead of his own government. But, for a long time, he did constantly feel as if he was walking on eggshells around Paranomia.

Eventually, it was worth it. Alfred found his efforts hadn’t been in vain. Arthur would spare him small touches and private smiles, and would show him the kindness that had eluded him for so long. Alfred wasn’t sure what kind of luck he had, but it gave him the angel. Just being around Arthur made him feel like less of a monster, and like he was worthy of the angel’s grace.

His admiration grew into something Alfred didn’t recognize over the time Arthur led their little group. He began to relish every moment they touched, and every lonely night they spent together. His heart fluttered in his chest whenever Arthur addressed him. Every time they made eye contact, Alfred swore he forgot how to breathe. He didn’t know what had changed or why he reacted the way he did, but he did know that Arthur made him very happy. And he wanted to do everything he could to make Arthur happy too.

Then, Arthur started going out by himself on missions. He began to get used to having so many at his command, prepared to carry out his will. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself changed all too quickly for Alfred’s comfort. But one day, he realized Arthur was acting like the very commanders they had worked so hard to escape from.

He didn’t want to confront Arthur about it, because they’d had disagreements before, and the last thing Alfred wanted to do was to make him angry. But he couldn’t just watch as Arthur forgot himself and lost his purpose completely. He wasn’t even really sure what exactly Arthur was trying to accomplish anymore, but he seemed to become more and more distant with every mission.

Alfred couldn’t bear to watch Arthur become someone else. He wanted the angel he cared for so much back, he didn’t want to see Arthur become a true demon. The angel had been his motivation behind everything he did, and watching that image crumble to dust upon the pedestal he’d put Arthur on was painful in a way Alfred couldn’t describe. He felt hollow without the warmth Arthur had shown him before. Arthur had grown cold and detached from them all, like he forgot why they were fighting in the first place.

It seemed almost as if he was hellbent on meaningless violence, anything to get to both the Demonocracy and the Angelicans.

So Alfred watched him, trying to ignore how his throat tightened and how his stomach churned at the mere thought of speaking with Arthur. He didn’t know why being around Arthur suddenly became so hard, because when they weren’t together, he felt his chest aching with a yearning he had become familiar with. He couldn’t stand being with or without Arthur.

And on that night that Arthur woke up in a silent panic, Alfred watched him with a steady gaze. He looked down on Arthur, observing as he let out a long breath that he could see through the cold air.

Suddenly, it was clear.

All of Alfred’s inner turmoil suddenly made sense, as he watched Arthur settle back down and stare at the roof of the cave. There was a silence in his head, like all the wondering had come to rest. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing. All this time, all this effort he’d spent, his life revolving around Arthur could only be for one reason.

It was out of love.

O~o~O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (EDIT: This is caught right up to the second half of Arc Two!!)
> 
> Hey y'all! I think this is an unusually quick update considering everything haha! Well, I'm mostly free except for one last track meet that I've actually traveled to, I think this is the first Messenger chapter that's not published from home! That's pretty crazy if you ask me. Anyway, so this chapter probably should have been longer, but I'm a little too eager to move on with the actual plot, so there are some pretty big time jumps in here. We go from before Alfred even met Arthur, to chapter seven where Alfred saves Arthur from falling, a brief mention of everything in between, and finally to the present point in the main plot. My only excuse is that this is the third and final chapter of Alfred's origins, so I'm sorry if this chapter seemed a little rushed.
> 
> Alfred is honestly just one sad little bean. I want to give him all the love he deserves, and give Arthur smacks for being so mean XD Okay, so we've had Alfred shoving his tongue down Arthur's throat, Alfred kissing him in a sleepy daze, and Arthur 'blessing' Alfred a few times, and NOW Alfred realizes he's in love? Talk about a slow burn fanfic XD
> 
> Speaking of, I have plans to transfer this into an actual story. Just saying, in case you encounter a real book one day that reads exactly like this, it might still be me XD I've seen a fanfiction or two floating around that have very similar elements to Messenger, like spies and hierarchies and stuff, so yea that's kinda interesting. Maybe I've had a bigger impact in the fandom than I thought?
> 
> Next chapter is a Muse Drones song!! I'm so excited, this is the third one so far and there will be another one in the arc. I think now things will start to get super exciting, and I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I love writing it!!
> 
> As always, I don't own Muse, Linkin Park, Erik Satie, the bible, or anything haha. The cover image was drawn by the wonderful Makoyana! Thanks for reading!!
> 
> -Madz


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